make it brighter
by novae mienai
Summary: The way he said "I love you" was so distant and dull, she wanted to strangle him. / The usual ups and downs of a relationship. Tokotoko's Thinking of You All Night. Gumi/VY2. Gift fic for Nerumi H, happy birthday! :D
a/n: cover image: ぽんじりつ, pixiv id 40756

sobs a lot soooo Tokotoko's Thinking of You All Night feat. Gumi is one of my Favourite Songs Ever and I always wanted to write something to do with it but I feel like I just butchered it orz it's really more ambiguous than anything I've ever written and I'm not confident in this at all plssss

but whatever HAPPY BIRTHDAY NERUMIN! I recall you liking Gumi/VY2 so, uh, that's what I did! I hope my portrayals of them were to your liking and didn't go completely against your headcanons or something OTL... I wish you many more happy days of good fiction and wasting time on twitter! :)

I really am not confident in this wowow I'm just gonna post it before I regret so

* * *

She remembers it clearly, the first time she drank coffee. It was in high school, after one of those rough nights where she couldn't sleep no matter how hard she pressed her head into the pillow. Coffee was bitter, unbearably so, and she could feel her childhood seeping away with each cough and gag.

She always told herself as a kid that she'd never become one of _those_ adults. The ones who cursed the morning, bussing to work in creaseless business casual while easily, even eagerly, sipping what she used to call liquid mud. But, well, she's a grown-up now, and her tongue has numbed to the things she used to denounce. Coffee. Working overtime. Complaining all the time.

"If it bugs you that much, just put more sugar in it," Miku is saying as she and her fellow customer service operative brew their morning in the office lounge.

"I don't drink it for the taste," Gumi says as she wrinkles her nose and takes three big gulps of dark coffee. She then picks up a glass of water to wash away the bitterness. "I'd rather just get it over with quickly."

"You're really weird," Miku says softly, though she's smiling fondly.

"I just need to get through the morning." Gumi pushes her hair from her face and blinks long and hard, but the sleep won't leave her eyes.

* * *

She and him, they started in high school.

He was that weird kid. Good at sports and art at the same time, but useless at math and everything else. He always had that tuque on—the teachers gave up on asking him to take it off after about a week.

They were both on the track team. If there was one thing that boy could do, it was run. He could really run. When she first saw him blazing around the track oval, she honestly couldn't believe it was him, because he was always so lethargic during class. His limbs looked heavy when he walked. His head was always nailed to the desk, and he only looked up when the teacher called on him, or when he heard Gumi's voice somewhere nearby.

It was an early summer afternoon, pleasant if you sat in the shade but hot if you were running around. So naturally, after 1200 metres, Gumi was panting and sweating and her hair looked like she hadn't brushed it in two days. He'd been waiting right there, at the finish line. It was only a practice race but he clapped as she walked off her momentum.

"That was great, Gumi. You should really think about trying for a starting position."

He might've just been saying that because he was a shoe-in for a starting position. "I don't think I'm that good. This is only for fun."

"That's fair."

He didn't say anything else. Gumi looked hard at the ground then suddenly snapped her gaze up to him.

"Do you think running is fun?"

He laughed. "Of course! If you're as good at something as I am at running, then you probably think that thing is fun."

His lack of modesty surprised her, but drew her in in a strange way. Maybe that was his intention. "I'm good at irritating people, but I don't think it's fun." She said this with a raised eyebrow, mildly challenging, but if there was any sincerity in her words, he caught it.

"Maybe it's not that you're good at irritating people as much as you're bad at making people happy," he mused aloud.

She angled her eyebrow even higher, hand on her hip, lips drawn tight, staring into him as he stared into her.

She thinks it's about then that she was locked in.

He grinned. "Just kidding."

* * *

He wants to meet in the morning, but Gumi shoots down that idea immediately. They settle for Saturday night, because neither of them work Saturday nights.

In truth, Gumi thinks of them as more of a Tuesday afternoon couple, but she doesn't mention it before she hangs up because she's long learned how to stop herself from saying stupid things.

It's early winter now and she's waiting for him outside, because heaters are for the weak, and also because she'd hate to wait inside alone. It's snowing lightly, but it's only visible under the streetlights, like dust in the sunlight.

She turns on her phone and the light from the screen is bright, but not in the right way. It's 7:24 and they were supposed to meet at seven, but that's just the way they are.

* * *

Sweat shone on his forehead and there was a gold medal dangling from his neck. He plopped in front of her on the bleachers and rested his head against her knees without asking permission first.

"Good job," she smiled. Her back was straight and her hands were folded tightly in her lap.

"I'm beat," he breathed. He lolled his head back to look at her, and they shared something then; she can't quite remember anymore, though.

She reached out, tentatively at first, but then she realized he'd just won the prefectural 800 metre championship and he deserved it. She pulled off that hat of his and slipped her hand into his hair and felt all the sweat and warmth of him in one full emotion.

He let out a chuckle, ragged from his uneven breath, but it was sweet and made her feel like the both of them were somewhere small and far away. The summer air was warm and not hot, and Gumi found herself thinking that this kind of thing had been bound to happen from the start.

* * *

Then, all of a sudden, it was the eve of their graduation. They were in the aisle of a convenience store, somewhere far-off to her but familiar to him. The only other sign of life among the store's artificial lighting was the sleeping college student behind the counter.

"What do you think?" Yuuma held up two bags of chips, one sour cream and onion, the other salt and vinegar.

"Sour cream and onion," Gumi said quietly, then turned back to the shelf. Looking at him was getting harder these days. She was either falling in love, or growing out of it.

Yuuma walked into another aisle. Gumi never knew she'd wound up her shoulders but she let them relax as she turned her gaze up to the fluorescent lights. It was late evening. It was cold.

Then, suddenly, when she least expected it. From behind, his arms snaked around her waist. Her breath caught and she didn't know whether to feel afraid or the safest she'd ever felt in her life.

"So, you know," he started off, slowly, measuring, like how he always started races hanging purposefully behind to observe his fellow competitors, before surging ahead like she knew he could. "I've been thinking a lot lately. About you. And about myself, too. Mostly about what I feel about you."

The way they were standing, she couldn't see his face. Maybe that was his intention.

"I love you."

It was quiet, but the brightest and softest falling sensation, and maybe, just maybe, everything she'd been waiting for since before she was born.

And that's where they started, at least in her mind. Everything before that had been the get ready, get set. Gumi stopped running after high school, but she did enjoy her years on the track team. There was a quality of hard, fast freedom down on the oval. Though it was tiring, tore her lungs out, and damn sweltering once you couldn't feel the wind anymore. Maybe it was the pre-race adrenaline she preferred.

* * *

They became serious all of a sudden.

She was in her pajama pants and an old sweater of his, too big for her but it felt just right, nevertheless. He was still in his jacket; he hadn't bothered taking it off when he came in. He visited often, but never this late at night.

When she opened the door, he was sullen and she knew immediately to just not say anything. She led him in to the couch and she sat with his head in her lap, stroking his hair, which was smooth and cold from outside and smelled like shampoo. He wasn't wearing his hat today. She tucked his hair behind his ear and grazed his soft earlobe between her fingers.

She just talked.

"My econ prof is really weird. He stutters and goes off on tangents a lot. Talks about his life, current events. I mean, it's interesting, but not what I'm paying tuition for."

He nodded in her lap.

"I called my mom the other day. She said my gardenias are doing well. I won't believe her until I see them myself, though."

He hummed. She'd always liked the sound of his voice.

"Hey." She just barely traced his cheekbones with her fingertips, then withdrew her hand entirely. She could tell he felt the lack of her touch. "Have I ever hurt you?"

He rolled up so he was looking straight up at her face bent over him, her hair not having been combed in two days for a stupid graphic design project she ended up handing in late anyway. "I love you," he said, "so of course."

It was weird, because they'd never had a big argument or any fallings-out of any sort. She'd hurt him in small ways. Ways that seemed insignificant at the time but had a way of piling up like Jenga blocks.

And he'd hurt her similarly, of course. But like he said, he loved her, so did that even matter?

"The world can be really shitty, you know?" He rubbed his eyes. He looked ready to fall asleep right then and there.

"That's true. But…" she looked at him uncertainly. "I love you, Yuuma."

He smiled weakly.

* * *

She almost snorted out her coffee.

"M-Marry?!"

Miku was typically crazy and she knew it, but today she held herself with such sureness of her own sanity that Gumi had to believe she was serious. "Yes," she replied calmly. "I swear you've been dating him half your life now, so get a move on. The kids are healthier the younger you have them." A snarky grin.

Gumi sipped her coffee, then five or six slow sips of water right after so she had more time to think about what she wanted to say. "It's my relationship, Miku, not yours."

"But you're my _friend_ , Gumi, it's my job to care about these things. You're not getting any younger, you know. Has he ever shown any sign of, I dunno, just _thinking_ about it? About your future? Because from here, you know, it's either you get married or break up having wasted ten years of your life, so why don't you bring it up the next time you go out? Just casually."

She loved Miku, she did, but she really was like a nosy aunt. Fraying her nerves and wearing her out without meaning any harm. "It's really not something you should worry about, Miku." Gumi suppressed a heavy sigh that would betray how tired she was.

"But I—"

"I'm not anyone's problem to be fixed," Gumi said firmly. She stirred her coffee, slowly, watching the liquid swirl. She really hated coffee.

* * *

Somewhere along the line, he grew tired.

Or that's what she thought, anyway; what she could piece together from the few clues he left her. It was a dark night, mid-spring, and they were walking aimlessly in the park together, hand in hand.

"Is love really such a great thing?" he said suddenly, slipping something dense into their leisurely walk.

"Hm?" She squeezed his hand for good measure. He did get like this sometimes. He thought about things she didn't like to think about. She used to let that drag her down, but then she realized that if he never wanted to hurt her, she'd never let him.

"I've been wondering things like that for a while now, and I couldn't think of anyone to talk with except you."

Even now, words like that made her heart skip a beat. The darkness hid his face and hers which, even after all these years, was tinged red.

He continued, "I mean, being with you makes me happy and all, but I've been wondering. Is that all?"

She squeezed his hand again, and decided, "Yes, that's all."

* * *

"You're pretty annoying sometimes, you know?"

He wasn't rounding on her. He said it casually, the same way he said things like "Let's go out," or "You're beautiful." But maybe that made it worse.

"Well, what do you want me to do about it?" she said frostily.

"I don't think you _can_ do anything. I was just saying, I guess."

She spun around to face him, trying not to believe in the tears in the corners of her eyes. "But you don't _just say_ things like that, idiot!"

He was just running his mouth for the sake of it, at this point. His voice was cool, loose, nonchalant, and weak in a way, but not quite. "So you want me to just shut up? Pretend that you're perfect all the time?"

"No one can be perfect all the time."

"Exactly." He turned away like that ended the discussion, but she grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

"If you want someone perfect, then you can give up on marrying anyone ever."

Maybe she shouldn't have used the m-word, but it wasn't like she could reach out and grab the word and return it to the back of her mind before he heard it. So instead she just wanted to be sucked into the ground, which was suddenly too soft under her feet.

He was silent for a good ten seconds. She looked at his face and saw the same soft eyes and solid cheekbones as he'd had since high school, but this wasn't a kid in front of her anymore.

"You're only my girlfriend, you know," he said.

"I know," she said.

A moment passed.

"I love you," he said, not meeting her in the eye. It'd become something he said when there was nothing else he could say. She sincerely hoped that that was the worst he could ever get.

"I know," she said.

* * *

"You could be a little more _positive_ ," she told him one day as they were heading to the grocery store together. For a championship-winning runner, he was walking awfully slow today.

"I could," he said, flicking his brows like he knew she did when she was being sarcastic.

"But I'm being serious," she said, though she kept her voice as light as possible.

"You don't even know what's bugging me though." Because he never told her.

"We're usually bugged by the same things," she offered, but he shook his head, so she pushed the crack between them a little wider.

"Okay, listen here. It's okay to be like this sometimes, but this is ridiculous! Don't you think you're being selfish? Don't you think about how _I_ feel?"

"How _do_ you feel, then." His hands were in his pockets. He was still looking at the ground. She wanted to come over and knock his neck up so he could never look down again.

"How do I feel?" she repeated. Hadn't she been waiting all these years for the day she could tell him properly? A day when her feelings were finally strong enough to burst out of her chest as if on their own? "I—" she took a step closer, "love—" another step, "you."

Fierce and intense and vivid like the sun on their track meet days. The person she wanted to be, and believed she was.

* * *

She gave up on being sad and upset with him.

And to be honest, she kind of missed him, and no way would she give up with only that feeling lingering.

She knew she'd regret it later, it might even get her fired, but the surge of emotion in her veins was too overwhelming. She splashed her hot coffee all over the office floor and kicked off her tight shoes and ran into the elevator, and it was funny because as soon as the doors opened on the main floor, she saw him.

He'd been waiting for her in the lobby, looking smart in the work suit and tie she rarely got to see him in.

He couldn't help but grin at the run in her stocking. "I guess you wanted to see me too, huh."

If you can look at someone and mutually come to the realization that you love that person and that person loves you, then you're probably set for life.

* * *

He arrives thirty-five minutes late, so he owes her thirty-five dollars.

"You know," he says as she pockets the bills with a grin, "this 'revenge' of yours is all gonna be pointless if we end up sharing income one day."

She stares at him as if that'll help her understand him better. But all she sees is cryptic, a smile aimed more at himself than at her.

The 'if' in his sentence jumps out at her, but she's the kind of person who likes to believe, so she lets the happiness wash over her as she drags him out of the winter into the properly heated restaurant.

* * *

ASFHFJKAG WHAT THE FFFFFUKASE WAS THAT


End file.
